
u 



^ 



\ LIBRARY OF CONGRESs/ 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. , 



T7 



ARCADIAI LEAYES. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 



ALICE A. HOLMES. 




i'efo-iorli: 



PUDNEY & RUSSELL, PRINTERS, 

No. 79 John-Street. 



THE DEDICATION. 



Go, little book, I send thee forth 
With many an anxious thought ; 

Oh, let thy snowy pages bear 
The gems I long have sought. 

Perchance some gentle eye will turn, 

At twilight's dreamy hour, 
And cull from thee one little bud, 

To bloom in friendship's bower. 

Oft have I wandered far away, 
When summer days were long, 

And sat me down by mem'ry's stream, 
To catch its fairy song. 

Go, little book, I send thee forth 
With many an anxious thought ; 

Oh, let thy snowy pages bear 
The gems I long have sought. .' 



CONTENTS. 



Page, 

Dedication . . , , * 5 

Preface 9 

Eva ; or, The Basket of Wild Flowers 13 

Eesignation , 23 

Cast Not Affection from Thee 24 

To M. H 25 

To My Niece, Alice J. Holmes 26 

To My Brother William, in Oregon, on reflecting that he would 

be absent at Christmas. Written Dec. 20th, 1857 28 

Angels and Shepherds 29 

To a Sister 31 

To Miss Sarah Ann Crocheron, a Graduate of the New- York 

Institution for the Blind 32 

Lines Written after a Storm 35 

Lines Suggested by the Death of Miss Catherine Jones, Jersey 

City 37 

The Parting Day 39 

To S. A. A 41 

Medora 42 

Land of My Birth 45 

Musings 46 

Autumn 48 

Remembrance . . , 50 

The Mariner's Song , . . , . , 51 



CONTENTS. 



To J. M. * * * * * 53 

On Morning 55 

Clara ; or, The Orphan Girl 67 

Spring 72 

To an Absent Friend 73 

To a Friend Going to England 75 

Lines addressed to a Mother, on the Death of her Two Children, 77 

Written on Leaving the New-York Institution for the Blind. . 79 

Eeflection 83 

Sabbath Evening 85 

Sad Tidings 86 

Love's Longings 88 

An Invocation 90 

ToMiss J. L. B. * * * * * 91 

To Miss A. P. Hitchcock, of Westhaven, Vermont, in Answer 

to a Poem which she addressed to the Authoress 93 

An Answer to a Friend's Inquiry 95 

A Serenade Song •.•■•• 97 

The Father's Curse ; or, The Bride of the Wave 99 

A Dream 106 

Lines Addressed to a Friend 108 

To Fanny 110 

The Twilight Hour Ill 

The Bride 112 

A Group of Little Girls — To My Little Niece, who is now in 

Oregon 114 

To My Little Niece Elizabeth Frederica 115 

To My Little Cousin Alice, whose Visits to me have been a 

source of great Pleasure 116 

To My Little Cousin Sarah Matilda 117 

ToJulia 118 ■ 

To Isabella 119 

To My Cousin Eliza 120 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 



AiiiONa the multiplicity of books and authors that 
present themselves to us in this age of letters^ none 
should be so acceptable to the public ear as those 
ornate with the varied tints of romance and poesy, 
engendering in the minds of the young a pure, health- 
ful, and genuine virtue, and awakening the adult to 
a culture of those powers and faculties, which have 
for their object the glorious exaltation of our imper- 
fect natures. 

Yet, so eager are we to follow fancy in her airy 
flight, and to catch her sweet inspiration, that the 
qualities of the author, and his disposition to foster 
those tendencies, are seldom or never taken into ac- 
count. Our notions of men are generally based 
upon their works ; and the opinions which the young 
1 



10 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

form of the world in whose interests and concerns 
they are about to participate, are founded on the ex- 
perience of those gone before them. How important, 
then, that the tutor should feel it his incumbent duty 
to place in the hands of his pupil, works, whose 
perusal would enable him to cope with its dangers, 
and to ascend, one by one, the steps of fame unsul- 
lied, until he gains the top, from which he may be- 
hold a bright and glorious inheritance beyond ; un- 
like the prophet of old, who, from Pisgah's top, be- 
held the fair land whose fragrant precincts he was 
never permitted to enter. It is with this intent we 
cheerfully subscribe to the beauties of the little 
volume now before us. 

Think, gentle reader, as you speak of these pro- 
ductions, and judge of their merits — oh! think of 
the grateful heart you gladden by your kind and 
liberal patronage. 

The writer of this little work lost her sight at the 
age of nine years. Her last view of this beautiful 
earth was the scenery of Staten Island, where she 
esided at that time. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 11 

After struggling with adversity for several years, 
and all hope of recovering her sight had flown, she 
entered the New-York Institution for the Blind in 
1837, from which she graduated in 1844 with its 
highest honors. Since then, her life has not been 
one of ease, of sunshine, and song ; but where others 
have found the rose, hers has been the scentless 
thorn. Her condition is truthfully portrayed in the 
expressive lines of one of her own class : 

" Wide o'er mj prospect rueful darkness breathes 
Her inauspicious vapor ; in whose shade, 
Fear, grief, and anguish, natives of her reign. 
In social sadness gloomy vigils keep ; 
With them 1 walk, with them still doomed to share 
Eternal blackness, without hope of dawn." 

Soon after her term of pupilage expired at the 
Institution, the death of her kind father added a new 
sorrow to her condition. Many of our readers will 
doubtless remember that, in '49, the author pub- 
lished a neat little volume entitled " Poems by 
Alice Holmes," which was favorably received by 
the people ; and she fondly hopes that these pages 



12 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

may meet with a like reception, by an intelligent 
and liberal public. 

Miss Holmes does not issue this little volume with 
the hope of handing down her name to distant pos- 
terity, or with a view to literary honor ; but with 
the laudable desire of avoiding a dependency, so re- 
pulsive to an active and sensitive mind. 



J 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 13 



EVA ; OR, THE BASKET OF WILD FLOWERS. 

"My poor, poor Eva!" said Mrs. "Went worth, fix- 
ing her large dark eyes, with an expression of 
anxious solicitude, on the frail form of a delicate 
child, who sat busily employed in arranging some 
beautiful wild flowers she had just been gathering. 
Having completed her task, she arose, and, gliding 
noiselessly to the bedside of her mother, bent down, 
and imprinting a kiss upon her cheek, said, in a gentle 
tone, " Good bye, Mamma ; I'll be back soon. Don't 
cry," she continued, winding her arms tenderly 
about her mother's neck. "Let us learn to put our 
trust in Him who has promised to be the widow's 
guard, and a father to the fatherless. I know He 
has heard my prayer, and will help me to dispose of 
my basket of flowers ; and with a few shillings thus 
1* 



14 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

earned, I shall be able to bring home something to 
nourish and strengthen you." 

'' But your own health, Eva ?" replied Mrs. 
Wentworth. "Eemember you have tasted nothing 
since yestermorn, and I fear your limbs are too 
weak to sustain you, even should you meet with the 
success you anticipate." 

"Never mind me, dear mother," answered the 
child, and Avith a light step, she bounded gaily from 
the room, and descending the broken staircase, soon 
found lierself beneath the broad blue sky — her young 
heart bounding with the hopes which her own bright 
fancy had woven, and which were pure and guile- 
less, as the innocent flowers that lay smiling in her 
own tiny basket. 

" Heaven blees thee, my own darling I" ejaculated 
Mrs, Wentworth, as the last echo of her receding 
footsteps died upon her ear. Then closing her eyes, 
she sank into one of those pleasing reveries, that 
sometimes visit the weary and care-worn ; and her 
thoughts went back to the home of her early youth. 
Again, she beheld the cheerful fire blazing on the 



AKCADIAN LEAVES. 15 

hearth, and the little group who were wont to as- 
semble at eve around the family altar. Again, she 
looked upon the gray hairs of her venerable sire, as 
he opened the inspired volume, and from its sacred 
pages read the sweet message of redeeming love. In 
the midst of this happy picture, the door softly 
opened, and Mr. Vincent, the clergyman, entered. 
For many years, this amiable and excellent man had 
been a faithful and devoted servant of his Divine 
Master, in private as well as in public. He labored 
earnestly to inculcate the precepts held out by the 
doctrines of the Church ; and those opposed to him 
in religious faith could not but admit that his life 
was that of an humble, and self-denying Christian. 

In the abodes of wretchedness and want, by the 
bedside of the sick and the dying, he was ever found, 
patiently administering to their necessities, pouring 
the balm of consolation into their wounded bosoms, 
or leading the wanderer to Him, who, is ever ready 
to receive the returning prodigal. 

Mrs. "Wentworth, by whom his visits were al- 
ways regard as sources of peculiar comfort, felt on 
this occasion that his presence was doubly welcome. 



16 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

For several weeks, slie had experienced the most 
acute suffering. Her strength was rapidly decreas- 
ing, and she realized that ere long she must bid 
farewell to earth, and lie down in the cold and silent 
tomb. 

In the course of their conversation, Mr. Vincent, 
alluding to the many trials and difficulties through 
which, in the providence of God, she had been called 
to pass, ventured to ask whether, under all these af- 
flicting circumstances, she could say in the spirit of 
meekness, " Thy will be done." 

" Yes," replied the invalid. 

" Trials make the promise sweet — 
Trials give new life to prayer ; 
Bring me to my Saviour's feet, 
Lay me low and keep me there," 

"Then," continued the clergyman, "should it 
please God to call you from this world, have you 
any fears with reference to your acceptance with 
Him r' 

" None," she answered. " There is but one 
thing that troubles me. My solicitude for the wel- 



I 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 17 

fare of my child sometimes makes me feel an earn- 
est desire to struggle on a little longer." 

" If this be your only source of anxiety," said 
Mr. Vincent, " it shall speedily be removed. Eva 
shall be tenderly cared for. I have no children, and 
she shall find in me a father and a friend." 

Mrs. Wentworth attempted to express her grati- 
tude, but a gush of tears choked her utterance. At 
this moment, Eva came bounding into the room, her 
countenance glowing with animation, while she held 
up to the astonished gaze of her mother a gold coin, 
which she said had been given her by a kind gentle- 
man to whom she had sold her flowers. " And 
what do you think, mamma?" she continued, throw- 
ing back the flaxen curls that shaded her fair 
brow, " when I told him my name, and that I had 
a mother who was ill, he sighed, and said something 
about coming to see us, which I did not quite under- 
stand." 

Mr. Vincent soon after took his leave, promising 
to call on the following morning, and it had been 
mutually agreed to say nothing to Eva on the subject 
of her future home. 



18 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

Charles Wentworth was the only son of a wealthy 
merchant, residing in a flourishing town some few 
miles distant from the city of Boston. 

When only fifteen years of age, he evinced so 
strong a predilection for the sea, that his father, 
willing to gratify his desire, and thinking that a 
single voyage would be sufficient to cool his enthu- 
siasm, allowed him to embark with an intimate 
friend in a vessel bound for Liverpool. This voyage, 
however, decided his future course. At the early 
age of nineteen, he married Lucy Gray, a young and 
beautiful girl, to whom he was devotedly attached, 
and who, it was fondly hoped, would induce him to 
change his mode of life, for the more quiet scenes of 
domestic enjoyment. 

Soon after the birth of Eva, ha received the com- 
mand of a vessel bound for India. Two years sub- 
sequent, a rumor was circulated that the vessel had 
been wrecked during a violent storm, and that he, 
together with most of the crew, was lost. 

This melancholy disaster proved a death-blow to 
the elder Wentworth. A short time previous, he 



AECADIAN LEAVES. 19 

sustained a heavy loss, in consequence of specula- 
tion, in which he had become seriously involved ; 
and at his decease, his family were left in circum- 
stances of utter destitution. After a series of mis- 
fortunes, Mrs. Wentworth removed to Boston, 
where, by the aid of her needle, she succeeded in 
obtaining a comfortable support for herself and 
child. 

But the constant fatigue to which she was neces- 
sarily subjected, tended to undermine her constitu- 
tion — naturally delicate — and, ere long, her languid 
step and pale cheek told that disease had begun its 
fearful work. 

Eva had by this time completed her tenth year. 
Her quick eye was not long in detecting the altered 
appearance of her mother ; and young as she was 
she determined to devise some means by which to 
alleviate her condition. That very evening, on her 
return from the parsonage, her attention was at- 
tracted by a child about her own age carrying a 
basket, in which were some rosebuds and delicate 
orange-blossoms. " Where are you going "?" she 



20 AECADIAN LEAVES. 

asked. " There," answered the child, pointing to a 
splendid edifice on the opposite side of the street ; 
" and I must make haste, or Miss Ellen will think I 
am not coming." This trifling incident suggested a 
plan which Eva determined to put into immediate 
execution. Early on the following morning, she 
arose from her couch, and, stealing quietlj from the 
room, directed her steps to a small grove, where she 
soon collected a variety of choice flowers. Having 
tastefully arranged them into cliaplets and nosegays, 
she placed them in a basket, and went forth on her 
errand of love. The success which attended her first 
effort induced her to repeat the experiment. Thus 
she continued, till the time of her introduction to 
the reader, when she encountered the mysterious 
stranger, whose singular benevolence overwhelmed 
her with gratitude, and gave a new impulse to her 
ambition. Hardly had she seated herself to partake 
of the plentiful repast, which her good fortune bad 
enabled her to provide, when a slight tap was heard, 
and a tall, handsome figure, neatly attired, entered 
the apartment. Eva sprang to his side, and, taking 



ARCADIAN LEATES. 21 

his hand, said timidly, " Mamma, here is the gentle- 
man who was so kind to us this morning." 

For a single instant, the eyes of Mrs. Wentworth 
were riveted on those of the stranger. Then clasp- 
ing her hands, she exclaimed convulsively, " My 
own, my beloved husband ! I little thought to see 
thy face in this world ; but God is merciful ; the 
dead is alive, and the lost is restored to me again I" 

We shall not attempt to describe the emotions of 
Captain Wentworth at this unexpected recognition 
on the part of his wife, or the joy of little Eva, 
when told that the kind gentleman was no other 
than her own dear papa. A few words sufficed to 
explain the cause of his long absence. After the 
wreck of the ill-fated vessel, he was rescued from his 
perilous condition by a ship belonging to Portugal. 
On arriving at Lisbon, he found himself almost 
without the means of subsistence, and he at once 
formed the resolution of retrieving his fortune ere 
he should again visit his native land. To this end, 
he labored sedulouslj> for many years. At length 
the palm was won ; the great object of his life was 
2 



22 ABCABIAN LEAVES. 

accomplished, and he had come home to end his days 
in the bosom of his family* 

Mr. Vincent soon joined the happy circlcj and a 
song of praise went up like incense to the throne of 
Grod. It was now mid-summer, and when autumn 
came, and the flowers drooped, a voice was heard 
like the low breathings of an angel's harp, and the 
soul of Mrs. Wentworth plumed its ethereal wings 
and went home to that rest that remains for the 
finally faithful. Mr. Vincent followed the bereaved 
husband and child to the little churchyard ; and as 
he read those solemn and impressive words, " I am 
the resurrection and the life," the sacred relics of 
the dead were laid in their last resting place. Eva 
never forgot her mother ; but as she grew up, she 
endeavored to walk in her footsteps, and imitate her 
example. 

Captain Wentworth lived to see his daughter 
united in marriage to an industrious tradesman of 
Boston, and then passed tranquilly away to that 
world where the spirit of his beloved Lucy had gone 
before him. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 23 



PiESIGNATIO!y[. 



To Thee, my Father and my God, 

I would my heart resign. 
And never more at Thy blest will 

Ungratefully repine. 

No ! though bereavement, sickness, want, 

Should all my path attend, 
I will not murmur or complain, 

If Thou wilt be my friend. 

When shades of sorrow gather round, 
And friends seem strange and cold, 

Oh! let me with tlie eye of faith 
Thy smiling face behold. 

In sweet obedience to Thy will 

I would in future live — 
Where I am weak, oh ! make me strong ! 

W here I have sinned, forgive I 



24 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

CA'ST NOT AFFECTION FEOM THEE. 

Wound not the heart by cold reserve 

That fondly clings to thine, 
Nor doom the spirit to despair 

That worships at thy shrine. 
Chill not the warm and gushing stream 

That pure affection brings, 
Nor to an early tomb consign 

The heart from which it springs. 
Crush not to earth the tender germ 

Which thou, perchance, hast sown — 
Twill bloom for thee in years to come, 

When other charms have flown. 
Extinguish not love's cherished spark 

That thou hast fanned to light, 
Thou may'st require its holy ray 

To cheer affliction's night. 
Treat not with scorn the sunny smile 

That's only won by thine. 
It may, perhaps, a solace be 

When life and friends decline. 



AKCADIAN LEAVES. 25 

Rejoice not o'er grief's bitter tears, 

Nor bid them faster flow, 
They may, if spared, bedew thy grave 

When death shall lay thee low. 



TO M. H. 

Oh ! could I borrow from the skies 

An angel's golden lyre, 
In sweeter strains I'd sing to thee, 

And breathe my soul's desire. 

For mortal tongue can ne'er unfold 
The yearnings of my heart, 

Nor speak the deep, unbounded joy 
Thy friendship doth impart. 

But please accept the warm response 
That my glad heart would give. 

And in thy mem'ry cherish' d still 
Oh ! let our friendship live. 
2* 



26 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

And when we're laid within the tomb, 
By death's relentless hand, 

We'll rest in hope again to meet 
In yonder spirit land. 



TO MY NIECE, ALICE J. HOLMES. 

Ah ! think not, Alice, I forget 

The happy time that's fled, 
When like a sunbeam o'er my path 

A joyous light you shed ; 
Or, as an angel from the skies 

On holy mission sent, 
Devotedly my tastes to please 

Your leisure moments spent ; 

And cheerfully my will obey'd 

With fond endearing care, 
Nor ever deemed it hard with me 

Life's deepest woes to share : 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 27 

And never seemed thy heart so gay 

As when, in gladness, mine, 
Sad cares forgot, and sought the while 

Fresh wreathes of love and hope to twine. 

But shall I never see thee more ? 

Or never hear again 
The music of thy merry laugh 

I list so oft in vain ? 
Nor find thee stealing to my side, 

When bowed by grief or care ? 
Or feel the touch I knew so well, 

To tell me thou wert there ? 

Can I these joyous hours forget ? 

Oh, no, dear Alice, no ! 
Their memory will my spirit cheer, 

"When tears of sorrow flow ; 
And ever cherished in my heart 

Shall thy dear image d well- 
Affection's cord shall bind us still 

Though we have breathed farewell. 



28 AECADIAN LEAVESv 

Sad thoughts like these I cannot brook— 

They're too much fraught with pain; 
But fondly, fondly will 1 hope 

That we may meet again. 
Then sorrow's clouds will pass away, 

And sunny joys appear, 
And sweetly will my days glide ob 

With one to me so dear. 



TO MY BEOTHER WILLIAM, nOEEGO?(; 

ON REFLECTING THAT HE WOULD BE ABSENT AT CHRISTMAS. 

Written December fiOth, 1857. 

The Christmas time is coming, brother, 

With days of mirth and glee ; 
Couldst thou but spend them with us, brother. 

How happy should I be ! 

When around the festive board, brother, 

We gather to good cheer, 
How my sad heart will ache, brother. 

To see thy vacant chair I 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 29 

But when the best of wishes, brother, 

Are echoed warm and free, 
I'll waft a merry Christmas, brother, 

Upon the winds to thee. 



ANOELS k^J) SHEPHEEDS. 

BT LUKE, CHAP, II., TER. 8-15. 

'TwAS midnight. All was locked in dreamy sleep ; 
The sky was cloudless, and the golden stars 
Circled the brow of their celestial queen. 
Whose silver beams illum'd the tranquil earth. 
No sound disturbed the stillness of the air, 
Save the low murmur of a winding stream. 
And the soft whisper of a gentle breeze 
That o'er the dewy grass its perfume shed. 
Such was the hour, so lovely, calm, serene, 
When, to the shepherds, who, on Judah's plain, 
By night, did watch their flocks with tender care, 



30 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

Behold ! the angel of the Lord appear' d, 

And God's transcendent glory shone around, 

Which filled then- trembling souls with fear. 

" Be not afraid," the shining angel said, 

Whose dove-like wings were bathed in silver light ; 

" Glad tidings of great joy to you I bring. 

To you in Bethlehem, this day, is born 

Of David's line a Saviour, Christ, the Lord, 

Who is the everlasting Prince of peace. 

And this shall be a sign : a lovely babe 

You there shall find, who, wrap'd in swathing bands. 

Is with his mother in a manger laid." 

He touched his golden harp, and lo ! with him 

Appeared a multitude of seraphs bright, 

Who with their sweet harmonious voices say, 

" Good-will henceforth and peace to man below I 

And glory in the highest, be ascribed 

To Him, who sits on Heaven's eternal throne I" 

They ceased, and on their starry pinions sped 

To realms of light, in that celestial sphere 

Where, day and night, low bending at His throne. 

Angels and high archangels join their songs, 

And to Jehovah's name glad homage pay. 



ARC A WAN LEAVES. 31 



TO A SISTEK. 

Oh ! sister, kind and dear, 

When stars look on the sea, 
And friends are thronging round my heart, 
And tears of grateful feeling start^ 

'Tis then I think of thee. 

Together have we strayed 

In happy hours gone by, 
When merry birds with plumage fair, 
Came lightly sailing through the air, 

Beneath a cloudless sky» 

And, sister, when I hear 

The brooklet murmur free- 
Its sparkling water while I drink, 
And gather pebbles on its brink. 

My thoughts are then with thee. 



82 AECADIAN LEAVES. 

When peaceful slumber woos 

My spirit calm and free, 
And visions of departed days 
Bring back their sweet enchanted rays, 

Oh ! then, I dream of thee ! 

At morn, at dewy eve. 

When hope inspires my prayer, 
Still on the wings of faith and love 
I bear thee to the throne above — 

Thou art remembered there. 



TO MISS SAEAH AKN CEOCHEEOK, 

A GRADUATE OF THE NEW-TaRK INSDITCTION FOR THE BLIND. 

While fondly I muse o'er the past. 
When life was all sunshine and glee, 

Where now are the pleasures, I ask. 
That smiled on its beautiful sea *? 

Gone ! gone ! are those halcyon hours. 
Like dreams -that enchant us a while, 



AliCADlAN LEAVES. 33 

And friendsihip has fled from the bowers 

Where once we beheld her sweet smile ; 
And warm beating hearts that of yore 

With ours were united in love—* 
We hear their sweet echoes no more : 

They're passed to the mansions above. 
And all the bright scenes of our mirth 

Have sped with the fleeting of years, 
And on the horizon of earth 

No sign of returning appears. 

Yet fresh in my heart linger still 

The times of devotion with thee, 
When humbly we sought what the will 

Of our Father in Heaven might be ; 
And sweetly communed of the blesst 

That dwell in those regions of light. 
Where the weary for ever shall rest, 

And faith shall be changed into sight. 
At eve, when my fingers would trace 

The page by Jehovah inspired, 
And thou heard'st the sweet message of grace- 

Thy soul with devotion was fired. 
3 



34 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

The Sabbath ! how often its rays 

In concert we've hailed at one shrine, 

As we met, our Creator to praise, 
For accents of mercy divine ! 

But ah ! this sweet union was o'er 

When all our bright school-days were past ; 
Fond ties that had bound us before, 

Too rudely were severed at last. 
Now o'er the broad ocean of life 

Henceforth we must journey alone, 
Till we reach the fair Haven, where strife. 

Where sorrow and grief are unknown. 

'Twas sad from each other to part 

From scenes that the world could not mar ; 
Still are we united in heart 

Tliough distance has severed us far. 
But life will pass swiftly away. 

It is but a shadow at best ; 
In faith, let us hope for the day 

That will crown us with glory and rest. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 35 

LINES WRITTEN AFTER A STORM. 

The dark cloud is past, the wild storm is o'er, 
The thunder's loud crash re- echoes no more ; 
And the ocean's proud billows, that rolled mountain 

high, 
Now calm, on its breast all motionless lie. 
The bark that was_tossed by waves has anew 
Once more spread her sails to the fathomless blue ; 
And the bright orb of day, that vanished awhile, 
Is cheering again the earth with its smile. 
And rude, boist'rous winds, that howl'd through the 

. trees, 
Are now giving place to a soft summer breeze ; 
And birds, to the mountains for refuge that flew, 
Are warbling to God the praise to Him due. 
And wild blooming flowers, that drank of the rain. 
Are shedding sweet perfume o'er dale, hill, and 

plain ; 
And the large drops that fell, like tears from the sky, 
Now, gem-like, embroider the beds where they lie. 



36 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

The lowing of herds is passing away, 

And again on the hills the young lambs are at play, 

And the bee, that had ceased from his labors awhile, 

Is basking once more in the sunbeam's smile. 

Insects, that thirsted, are filling the air 

With songs of thanksgiving, in answer to prayer ; 

And the earth's summer robe, that faded had been, 

Is turning again to a beautiful green. 

Though wild was the tempest, and dark was the 

^ cloud, 
And harsh was the thunder that echoed so loud, 
Yet nature rejoices, since these are all past, 
And fear and dismay are now fled in the blast. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 37 



LINES 

SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF MISS CATHARINE JONES. 

Haek ! hark ! what mean those plaintive notes of 
woe, 

From yonder bell whose solemn peal I hear ? 
Why moves the crowd with measured step, and slow * 
Why bows the soul ? Why falls the burning tear ? 
Alas ! those waving plumes of mournful hue 

Tell of a form, that, like a lily fair. 
Around each heart a tender magic threw, 

And left a smile of quiet beauty there. 
Disease had early marked her for its prey ; 

We heard no more her soft elastic tread ; 
The rose-bud withered from her cheek away ; 

Her laughing eye a waning lustre shed. 
Calmly she slept, but ere that sleep was o'er 

An angel caught her spirit pure and bright, 
And on his starry pinions swiftly bore 

The precious treasure to its home of light. 
Sweet was her welcome to that radiant clime, 
3* 



38 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

Beyond the portals of the silent tomb; 
Where golden harps with choral voices chime, 

And dewy flowrets wear eternal bloom. 
Dear parents, while your tears of anguish flow, 

Oh ! look above these sombre clouds of care, 
To yonder world where living fountains flow, 

And see, by faith, your lovely daughter there. 
Safe from the storms that wake life's troubled sea, 

By no sorrow nor by sin oppressed ; 
From every pain your darling one is free. 

And would you win her from that sacred rest ? 
Oh ! may your stricken hearts a solace find. 

In Him who once the vale of darkness trod ! 
And may your deep affliction closer bind 

Your spirits to your Saviour and your God ! 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 39 



THE PAETING DAY. 

Oh ! dearest lov'd one, blame me not, 

If I am pensive now ; 
It is that dreaded parting day- 
Brings sorrow to my brow. 
Though oft I check fast falling tears, 

And bid my heart be still, 
I cannot drive sad thoughts away, 

They come without the will ; 
And fain I would be happy, too. 

While thou may'st linger here. 
And laugh the joyous hours away, 

Nor mar them by a tear. 
But ah ! that sad, undying thought. 

That we, ere long, must part — 
With present joy, doth mingle grief. 

And wrings my aching heart. 

Then, dearest lov'd one, blame me not 
When tears bedew my cheek ; 



40 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

The grief I would from others hide 

Forbids me oft to speak ; 
But while a spark of life remains, 

The heart I've pledged to thee, 
For thee shall beat, both warm and true, 

Alike in grief and glee. 
But ah ! the night is waning fast — - 

I'll seek repose a while, 
And fondly hope in pleasant dreams 

To meet thy cheering smile ; 
For while embraced in slumber sweet, 

On fancy's pinions bright, 
Perchance thy spirit seeketh mine — 

Good night, my love, good night ! 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 41 

TO S. A. A. 

Oh ! Sarah dear, this dreary day 

Has made my heart so sad, 
I scarce can think of aught to say 

To make another's glad ; 
But I will take my harp a while, 

And wake its merry strings — 
It may my breast inspire, beguile. 

With brighter, better things. 

Fair girl, thou bidst me sing to thee — 

Shall friendship be my theme ? 
'Tis sweeter, dearer far to me 

Than love's capricious dream •, 
But o'er thy warm and youthful heart 

May steal that magic spell ! 
But ah ! avoid the woman's part. 

Of loving but too well. 

May friendship's fondest, hallowed tie 

Bind many hearts to thine ! — 
A kindly word to none deny. 

It is a winning sign. 



42 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

In joy or grief, in weal or woe, 

Let friendship be supreme, 
'Twill make sad tears forget to flow. 

And life far Bweeter seem. 

Ah ! who would be without a, friend 

In sorrow's dreary night? 
Or care a life in pomp to spend 

If friendship hides her light ? 
Dear girl, I fain would be thy friend — 

Oh, say ! wil't thou be mine, 
And let our hearts together blend 

At friendship's holy shrine ? 

MEDOEA. 

'TwAS evening. One by one the glittering stars 
Looked calmly forth o'er nature as she slept, 
With her young blossoms cradled on her breast, 
While ever and anon, in sportive mood, 
A truant zephyr, with its idle wing, 
Would shake the lily on its slender stem, 
Or brush the dew-drops that had crept away. 
To nestle in the petals of the rose. 



AKCADIAN LEAVES. 43 

Beneath a drooping willow, that for years 

Had laved its branches in a cooling stream, 

Medora sat ; her eyes of mildest hue 

"Were upward turned, as if in pensive thought, 

And o'er her neck of snowy whiteness hung 

The flowing tresses of her auburn hair. 

Oh ! she was beautiful, a blushing maid 

Of eighteen summers ; yet her gentle heart 

Too well had known the bitterness of grief, 

And as she mused, and fond remembrance came 

Of by-gone days, when in that shady nook 

She listened to the tender vows of love, 

From him, who long had wandered from his home ; 

Her spirit drooped, she bowed her head and wept. 

Ah ! who may reach the hidden springs that lie 

Within the secret depths of woman's soul ! — 

Man may forget, by fickle fortune swayed, 

And to his sacred trust may recreant prove ; 

But she, unchanging, till her latest hour, 

Will in her trusting heart his mem'ry keep ; 

Though wronged, deceived, her faltering lips will 

breathe 
His hallowed name ; nor chide his cold neglect. 



44 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

An hour had sped, and still in silence there 

Medora sat ; 'twas strange, and yet she felt 

A sudden transport, though she knew not why. 

The crescent moon reflected soft and clear 

Her lovely image in a placid lake, 

Where Clarence oft had row'd his little bark, 

And sparkling wavelets curl'd the dipping oar. 

Hark! hark ! What sound is that so faintly heard*? 

She starts ! It cannot be ; she dares not hope ! 

And yet — that manly voice — so like his own ! 

She turns I a sail is fluttering in the breeze. 

And soon her lover springs upon the shore ; 

Her form encircles in a fond embrace. 

Again she feels affection's balmy kiss 

And in her bosom glows a holier flame — 

The wanderer has returned to roam no more. 



I 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 45 

LAND OF MY BIRTH. 

Land of my birth ! though on a distant shore, 

My yearning heart still warmly turns to thee ; 
In dreams 1 climb thy sloping hills once more, 
Or sit me down beneath some aged tree, 
Whose leafy boughs invite the rural lay 
Of woodland minstrels, at the close of day. 

Land of my birth ! I love thy genial skies. 
Thy glowing sunset, and thy twilight fair, 
As to her quiet nest the swallow flies, 
And, gently stealing on the fragrant air, 
Like mem'ry's dulcet voice, is faintly heard 
The mournful cadence of some lonely bird. 

Though but a child, I still remember well 

When last I gazed upon thy verdant shore, 
And as I listened to the village bell 

I little thought to hear its tones no more ; 
Oh I gladly would I brave the briny main, 
Land of ray birth, to see thee once again ! 



46 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 



MUSINGS. 



Oh ! would that I might breathe to thee. 

The yearnings of my heart, 
And feel those burning thrills of joy, 

Thy gentle words impart, 
And fondly cherish in my breast 

The boon I crave of thee — 
That thy warm heart would sometimes breathe 

One tender sigh for me. 

Oh ! would I dare to love thee more. 

And worship at thy shrine. 
And there my heart's devotion pay. 

While life and love are mine ; 
Nor ever fear that thou would' st frown, 

Or coldly on me look. 
Or treat with scom my love-lit smile — 

For that I could not brook. 

Oh 1 would that I might hear again^ 
Thy voice, so sweet and clear. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 47 

And feel its magic o'er my heart — 

While falling on mine ear ; 
And tell thee how my fancied power, 

O'er fond affection set, 
Stole airy wings and fled away. 

That night when first me met. 

Oh I might I, since that hour disclose 

My spirit's wild unrest, 
The brilliant hope, the dark despair, 

That kindled in my breast ; 
The silent tear, the smothered sigh, 

Except to God untold ; 
All this, and more I've bor^ie for thee, 

And can'st thou deem me cold ? 

Ah, me ! I cannot struggle more, 

I cannot longer hide 
The deep emotion of my breast, 

Nor stay love's flowing tide. 
No ! no ; I cannot banish now 

Thine image from my heart — 



48 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

Thou shalt my dearest idol be, 
Though we may dwell apart. 

Ah ! do not my devotion chide, 

Nor bid me quite despair ; 
But let my yearnings reach thy heart, 

And find an echo there. 
And when the cares of life shall close, 

I'll bless thee for thy love. 
And die rejoicing in the hope 

That we may meet above. 



AUTUMN. 



A FEW bright days ago, 

The trees were clad in green, 
But now upon their boughs 

A. leaf can scarce be seen. 

For Autumn's chilly blast 
Has nipt them by its blightj 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 49 

And rudely o'er the earth, 

Has strewn them in its flight. 

And, startled by its moan, 

The sweet birds fly in throngs, 

To chant in other chimes. 

Their anthems and their songs. 

Thus, reft of bird and leaf, 

The lonely forest wails. 
And trembles at the shrieks, 

Of keen November gales. 

But soon the dull, brown earth. 

Will Winter robe in while, 
And deck the naked trees 

With crystal jewels bright. 

Thus sheltered from the storm 

Will be each wood and glen. 
Till bright, warm Spring returns. 

And green leaves come again. 
4* 



50 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

EEMEMBEANCE. 

When dost thou think of me ? 
When fades the last bright gleam of day, 
When warbling birds soar far away, 
When o'er me twilight shadows steal, 
When distant bells for vespers peal — 
Or when, in prayer, thou bend'st the knee. 
Oh ! then I would remembered be. 

When dost thou think of me ? 
When dusky e\e its curtain draAvs, 
When devotees of turmoil pause. 
When midnight's fair majestic queen, 
With all her host of stars, is seen 
With beauty tinging land and sea, 
Oh ! say, dost thou remember me ? 

When dost thou think of me ? 
When mournfully the nights winds sigh, 
When slumbers close the weary eye. 



ARCADIAX LEAVES. 51 

When rosy tints the east adorn, 
When nature's praise proclaims the morn, 
When waking zephyrs kiss the lea — 
I ask, wilt thou remember me ? 

When dost thou think of me ? 
When fortune is to thee unkind, 
When anxious cares oppress the mind, 
When hope is dim and friends are few, 
When gushing tears the cheek bedew. 
When future days seem dark to thee— 
Kemember, oh ! remember me. 



THE MAEINEE'S SONG. 

On, merrily, merrily blows the wind, 

And away o'er the dark blue sea, 
With her flowing sails, and her helmsman true, 
And the joyous song of a noble crew, 
Our vessel is bounding free. 



52 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

The rocky clifF, and the mountain peak, 

Where the eagle soareth high, 
Are flitting fast in the sunlight gleam, 
And now like a tiny speck they seem, 

On the brow of the azure sky. 

Oh, merrily, merrily blows the wind. 

And the billows dance with glee, 
And still, like a creature of life and light. 
Our vessel is speeding her airy flight. 

O'er the blue and the boundless sea. 

Though green are the hills in my own fair land. 

Though pleasant her woods naay be, 
I should weary soon of her rustic shades. 
Of her flowery fields and her forest glades — 
A mariner's life for me. 

In the darkest night, in the wildest storm, 

I could gaze on the ocean's breast ; 
Or swing in my hammock and sweetly there, 
'Mid the thunder's roar and the lightning's glare, 
I could sink like a child to rest. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES, 53 

Oh, merrily, merrily blows the wind, 

And away o'er the dark blue sea. 
With her flowing sails, and her helmsman true. 
And the joyous song of a noble crew, 

Our vessel is bounding free. 



TO J. M 



**■»** 



In friendship's name my lute I'll take, 

That's long neglected lain. 
And in soft numbers will I wake, 

Its silver strings again ; 
And while around my heart it throws 

A sweet and magic spell, 
The joy to me thj? friendship brings. 

In music's strains I'll tell. 

Oft when my spirit, lone and sad, 
Has brooded o'er the past. 



54 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

And mourned those dear departed days, 
That seemed too bright to last ; 

When tears I vainly strove to hide, 
Would oft unbidden start, 

Thy friendship, like an angel's smile, 
Brought sunshine to my heart. 

How strong, how sacred is the chain 

That heart to heart doth bind, 
And who would break the golden links. 

By friendship thus entwined. 
Whate'er in life's meandering scen*es, 

My future lot may be, 
I will not ask a friend more true 

Than thou hast been to me. 



AUCADiAN LEAVES. 



ON MOENINa. 



Oh, sweet is the dawning hourj 
When dews like holy incense rise^ 

And waft to God on mystic wingSj 
Earth's morning sacrifice. 

And faif Aurora tints 

The azure sky with golden light^ 
And chases far the sable clouds. 

That veil the world in night. 

And angels that hourly watch. 

While earth reposing lies. 
Spreading their bright celestial winga, 

Pa3S swiftly to the skies. 

And rosy twilight fades, 

Before the gorgeous king of day, 
Who from the east rejoicing comes 

In glorious array. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

And gentle zephyrs kiss 

Dew-dfops from tlie blushing flowers, 
That waking speed their odors sweet, 

Through fields and summer bowers. 

And on the ocean's wave, 

Sunbeams like golden shadows beam, 
And laughing breezes catch the spray, 

That leaps from mountain stream. 

And to the huntsman's horn. 

The echoing rocks and hills reply, 

And beasts of prey that nightly prowl, 
As falcons swift go by. 

And insect voices greet. 

With songs of praise the waking day. 
And feathered songsters warble sweet, 

To God their morning lay. 

And man from sweet repose, 
Joyful again to see the light. 



ARCADIAN LBAVES» 57 

Goes forth to toil with clieerfiil heart, 
Till day gives place to nights 

Oh, sweet and hallowed time. 

Let thy peaceful influence rest 
On all the hours that shall succeed 

To this, that thou hast blest* 



CLARA, OR ORPHAN GIRL, 



'''• Stay, lady, stay, and hear my tale," 

A timid maiden said, 
Whose form was slight and weak and frail- 

Nor did she raise her head. 

For tears were falling thick and fast, 

iTpon her pallid cheek, 
And grief, that seemed to rend her heart. 

Forbade her more to speak. 

5 



58 AUCAtflAN LEAVES. 

And, fainting, to the earth she fell— 

The lady thought her dead, 
But 'twas her strength a moment failed. 

Her spirit had not fled. 

" Arise, poor girl," the lady saidj 
" And tell me all thy woe,— 

Hast thou no mother, home or friends ? 
Or what can grieve thee so V 

These kindly words unloosed her tongue. 
And gave her heart relief-— 

Though still she wept, she tried to tell 
The cause of all her grief 

" I have no mother now," she said, 
" She died but yester-night ; 

And scarcely yet two hours ago. 
They bore her from my sight- 

" Death was to her a sweet release— 
I was her only tie, 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 59 

And oft she warned me to prepare, 
To meet her in the sky. 

" She knew I'd but one earthly friend — 

And he was far away ; 
But, * Clara, put your trust in God,' 

How fondly would she say. 

" Then lift her eyes to Heaven in prayer, 

That angels might descend. 
To watch the child she soon must leave. 

Unguarded by a friend. 

^' And as her spirit passed away. 

She clasped me to her breast — 
^ Oh ! do not weep, my child,' she said, 

* I'm going home to rest ; 

" * And He, who is the orphan's guide. 

Thy footsteps will direct ; 
Tho' lone and dreary be thy way. 

He will thy life protect. 



60 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

" ^ Farewell ! we soon will meet again, 

On that eternal shore 
Where all is joy, and peace, and love. 

And parting is no more.' 

" And now they've laid her in the tomb, 

And I am left alone, 
Without a home, without a friend. 

Or aught to call my own. 

" For want had entered our abode, 
Ere death could bring relief — 

Starvation wrecked my mother's health, 
This is my deepest grief." 

Again the orphan ceased to speak. 

But to the lady clung. 
And in an agony of grief 

Her arms around her flung ; 

And her warm heart was deeply moved. 
That one so young and fair 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 61 

Should drink of sorrow's bitter cup, 
And early learn despair. 

" Come, come with me, poor girl," she said, 

•■' My peaceful home is near, 
And when repose has soothed thy grief, 

Thy tale I'll further hear. " 

As moon-beams piercing through the clouds, 

Make glad the traveler's heart, 
So joy to Clara's aching breast. 

Did those kind words impart. 

" Oh ! thank you, thank you !" lady dear, 

She warmly strove to say. 
While mingled tears of grief and joy, 

From her full heart made way. 

*' Oh ! Clara, dearest do not weep, 

But lean upon my arm — 
See, yonder mansion fair is mine ; 

I'll shelter thee from harm." 
5* 



62 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

Encouraged thus, with trembhng steps, 
How anxiously she pressed, 

To gain her home, who promised there 
To give the orphan rest ! 

Now safe within these friendly walls, 
Her anguish grew less keen — 

Her throbbing heart more calmly beat, 
Her brow became serene ; 

And when with every want supplied. 
And day was past its close, 

" Oh, show me to my couch," she said, 
" That I may seek repose." 

Though sleep, the weary's ready friend, 

But seldom brings relief 
To those whose spirits are oppressed. 

With deep and bitter grief. 

Yet Clara soon in slumber sweet. 
As beauty locked in grace, 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 63 

Smiled gently through those bitter tears, 
That late bedewed her face. 

An hour had fled — the vision passed — 

Her pleasant sleep was broke, 
And back to pain, and care, and woe, 

That child of sorrow woke. 

" Oh ! was it but an idle dream ? 

Is not my Edward here '? 
Could fancy breathe those tender words 

That fell upon my ear ? 

"^No, no — 'twas Edward's voice I lieard- 

Oh ! -whither has he fled J 
Go call him — tell him I am here ! " 

In frantic grief she said. 

Then quickly from her couch she rose. 

But wept in wild despair. 
When but the moonbeams met her gaze, 

For Edward was not there. 



64 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 



And, wakened by her bitter wails, 

That gentle lady rose, 
And kindly said, '* Oh, tell me, child. 

What's broken thy repose?" 

To Clara's cheek, so pale and wan. 

The rose-like color came. 
Then dyed her lips to ashy white. 

And trembling seized her frame. 

But soothing words, and tender care, 

Were lent to her relief; 
Then timidly she tried to tell 

Her yet remaining grief. 

" I must have dreamed to-night," she said, 

" Of one that's dear to me — 
A voice like his so charmed ray ear, 

I thought it must be he. 

" It seemed that spring had come again, 
To cheer the dreary earth. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 65 

And fan the flowerets back to life. 
That drooped at winter's birth — 

" The trees put forth their fresh green leaves, 

And tuneful birds were glad, 
And insect voices filled the air, 

And I alone was sad ; 

" For I had early pledged my heart, 

To one that's far away, 
And when I looked for his return, 

Came wearisome delay ; 

" Soft shades of twilight seemed to steal 

My little casement through. 
And on the gentle breeze were borne. 

Sweet tones that well I knew ; " — 

" A thrill of joy my bosom filled — 

* Tis Edward's voice !' I cried ; 
' Yes, yes, my love, I've come at last. 

To claim my faithful bride,'— 



66 ^ ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

" While yet he spake the spell was broke, 

My happy dream had fled ; 
Those accents sweet I heard no more — 

Oh ! much I fear he's dead ! 

" For he'd a heart too warm and true, 

Too noble to deceive — 
I cannot deem him false to me. 

Though bitterly I grieve ; 

" But, lady, should he e'er return. 

When I am cold in death. 
Oh ! tell him that his cherished name, 

Was with my latest breath !" 

These thoughts brought sorrow to her breast, 

And heavily she sighed, 
And down her cheeks rolled burning tears. 

She vainly strove to hide. 

And from that lady's face the while 
Beamed warmest sympathy — 



AKCADlAN LEAVES. 67 

She said, *' Oh, Clara, dear, be calm, 
Thy home shall be with me, 

• " Thy stricken heart I'll strive to soothe j 
Let me thy sorrow share. 
For anguish such as thine is bard, 
For one so young to bear. 

" And hope's bright star is shining still — 

Oh, let its cheering beam 
Illume thy sad, foreboding heart, 
And life will sweeter seem. 

" Perchance thy much loved Edward lives. 

And homeward wends his way, 
And longs the hapless cause to tell 

Of his protracted stay. 

" Bright, happy days may yet be thine, 

And sorrow come no more — 
The storm that's loudest in its wail-, 

Is far the soonest o'er." 



68 AKCAMAN LEAVES. 

But Clara felt her blighted heart 

Fast withering away^ 
And soon within the dark, cold grave, 

Her wasted form must lay. 

Nor did she wish to linger here. 

Save for dear Edward's sake ; 
But when she thought of his delay. 
It seemed her heart would break. 

" Oh ! could I ere life's trembling strings 
Their mournful echoes cease, 

Ga:2e but one moment on his face, 
Then could I die in peace ; 

*• For I've a home beyond the sky, 

Away from care and pain, 
And friends that parted from me hero, 

I there may meet again." 

Though long that gentle lady strove, 
Poor Clara's life to cheer, 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 69 



Yet on her cheek she saw with pain, 
The hectic flusli appear. 

The glowing tints of summer flowers, 

Unseen, had passed away. 
And all that bloomed awhile so fair, 

Was sinking to decay : 

And sadly o'er the fading earth, 
Came autumn's chilling breeze, 

And swept the few remaining leaves, 
That lingered on the trees ; 

And Clara, drooping like the flowers. 

Her cheek still paler grew, 
And fast was fading from her eyes. 

Their soft, exquisite hue. 

The blighting wind that strews the leaves^ 
And curls them with its breath, 

To her its bitter moaning proved 
The harbinger of death. 
6 



To ARCADIAN LEAVES. 



Still lingered in the rosy west, 

Soft gleams of parting day, 
"When Clara grasped the lady's hand, 

And calmly strove to say : 

" Farewell, dear friend ! Oh, do not mourn 1 

Bright angels round me stand. 
They'll bear me from this dreary world, 

To Eden's fairer land." 

Then from her breast a locket drew, 

And on it pressed a kiss — 
" Oh ! should my Edward e'er return, 

Dear lady give him this.'* 

She ceased, for death his icy hand 

Had laid upon her frame. 
But ere her gentle spirit fled, 

Her absent Edward came. 

She sweetly smiled, and pressed his hand, 
And tried to speak in vain, 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. ' 71 



Then ceased the echoes of her heart, 
That ne'er should beat again. 

" Oh, Clara ! Clara ! my betrothed," 
Young Edward wildly said, 

"Have I but come to lay my bride 
Among the lonely dead f 

The fairest spot the churchyard held, 
Was Clara's bridal grave. 

The myrtle and the cypress there 
Their pensive branches wave. 

And Edward oft, bereaved and sad, 
His death-bound Clara weeps. 

And like an angel o'er her tomb 
A faithful vigil keeps. ^ 



72 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 



SPEOG. 



She's coming, oh, she's coming, 

The bright and joyous Spring ! 
And aromas the sweetest, 

She bears upon her wing. 
The snowy wreaths of winter, 

Will vanish at her glance, 
And sporting zephyrs greet her, 

Where smiling sunbeams dance. 
She'll break the chains asunder 

That bind the limpid streams ; 
She'll wake, with voice of music. 

All nature from her dreams ; 
She'll robe the fields with verdure, 

And clothe the leafless trees ; 
She'll fling a healing sweetness 

Upon the laughing breeze. 
She'll woo the feathered songsters, 

To cheerful notes of mirth ; 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 73 

She'll deck with flowers the sweetest 

The fair reviving earth. 
She'll come arrayed in splendor, 

As bridal maids appear, 
To wait upon the Summer, 

The bride of all the year. 



TO A¥ ABSENT FEIEND. 

Believe, believe me, dearest friend, 
How sadly grieved I am to learn 

That days and weeks must roll away 
Ere I may hope for thy return. 

How shall I miss thy greetings kind, 
That came with each returning day, 

As in our Father's house we met. 
In union sweet to praise and pray "? 

With other loved ones, truly there 
I may devoutly worship still, 
6* 



74 AECABIAN LEAVES. 

And seek iHis aiding grace to make 
My heart submissive to His will. 

But there are times, oh, friend beloved! 

When o'er my soul dark shadows rise : 
I need thy Christian counsel sweet, 

To guide my pathway to the skies. 

Oh, may Car'iina's genial clime 
Thy failing health at once restore, 

And early spring's bright sunny days 
Plail thy return to Jersey's shore. 

And when, dear friend, thou pray'st for those, 
That are of all most dear to thee. 

Ere from the Throne of Grace thou go'st. 
Oh ! sometimes there remember me. 

And to thy loving sister dear 

My warm and kind remembrance give, 

Whose acts of Christian kindness will 
Long on fond memory's tablet live. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 75 

And please accept this little pledge 

Of love and gratitude combined, 
For all the love and kind regard, 

Thy tender heart has shewn for mine. 



TO A FPJEXD GOim TO ElN^GLAND. 



Though I adieu to thee, friend, 

Without a sigh may say, 
Believe I am sincere, friend, 

My heart would bid thee stay ; 
And in our circle oft, friend, 

Around our social hearth, 
Thy leisure moments spend, friend. 

And share our simple mirth. 

But ere thou goest hence, friend, 
Across the waters blue, 



76 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

I pledge my word to thee, friend^ 

And ask the same of you, 
That wlien the ocean wide, friend, 

Shall sever thee and me, 
The chain that binds us now, friend, 

Unbroken still may be. 

And when thy native land, friend, 
' Thine eyes behold with mirth, 

Oh ! greet her shores for me, friend, 

For England gave me birth ; 
And though I from her strayed, friend, 

Her image, bright and fair. 
Was graven on my heart, friend, 

And still remaineth there. 

But if thy heart's desire, friend. 
Thou shouldst not there obtain,'' 

Come back, come back with speed, friend, 
To freedom's land again ; 

And I, with heart and hand, friend, 
To Jersey's pleasant shore 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 77 

Will hasten thee to greet, friend, 
And welcome thee once more. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO A MOTHEE ON THE DEATH 
OF HEB TWO CHILDREN. 



Oh ! do not mourn those tender buds 
That death has torn away, 

They do but ripen in the tomb 
To bloom in endless day. 

Ah! do not think those little flowers 
Are crushed no more to rise : 

No ! angels bear them to a land 
Far, far beyond the skies. 

Transplanted now in Paradise, 
No blight can reach them there, 

But ever fairer will they grow, 
Aod sweeter blossoms bear. 



78 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

Around the blessed Saviour's throne, 
Those lovely flowerets twine — 

By Him restored to life, and blessed, 
And made like Him divine. 

Then, do not mourn those tender buds, 
Though taken from your sight, — 

In softer, milder climes they bloom, 
Where all is love and light. 

And to that land of flowers so fair. 
The Saviour bids you come ; 

Behold ! your cherished ones are there— 
They are not in the tomb. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES, 79 

WRITTEN ON LEAYING THE NEW-YORK INSTITUTION 
FOR THE BLIND. 



Adieu, adieu, mj long loved home, 

Where genial spirits dwell ! 
For I must bid thy hearth and halls, 

This day, a sad farewell. 
Thy vesper-bell will peal at eve, 

But not alas ! for me, 
For I shall be alone and sad, 

Far, far away from thee ! 

Adieu, adieu, my guides belov'd, 

I may no longer share 
Your kind regards, your patient toil, 

Your ever watchful care. 
Oh, fain with you I'd linger still. 

And more of knowledge gain ; 
But 'tis decreed that I must go, 

The wish to stay is vain. 



80 AECADIAN LEAVES. 

Adieu, adieu, companions dear, 

My sisters, brothers, friends. 
This day completes my stay with you, 

This day our union ends. 
But oh ! how can I, can I bear. 

To hear that death-like knell. 
That bids me tear my heart away 

From those I love so well ! 

Adieu, adieu ! it must be so ! 

The moment now is near, 
That bids me haste from you away. 

My long-loved schoolmates dear. 
When ye this eve at vespers meet, 

To chant a choral Jay, 
Oh, breathe one heartfelt prayer for her 

Who will be far away. 

Adieu, adieu, ye noble sires, 
Whose philanthropic hearts 

Have formed a plan, that e'en the blind 
May learn the useful arts. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 81 

Expressions fit your praise to speak, 

I know not where to find ; 
May Grod reward your efforts made 

To educate the blind. 

Adieu, adieu to golden hours 

That learning did employ, 
And gave for ev'ry moment's toil 

A sweet reward of joy ; 
For they will be no longer mine, 

My school-day dreams are o'er, 
Far dearer should I prize them now, 

Could they return once more. 

Adieu, adieu to morning walks 

Along the Hudson's side, 
Where oft amid the rocks we heard 

The music of the tide ; 
And wanderings at twilight hour 

Through grove by hill and stream, 
That I have ever fondly prized. 

But dearer now they seem. 
7 



^2 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

Adieu, adieu to music's charm, 

From it, I too must part ; 
Much shall I miss its magic power 

To soothe my lonely heart. 
Adieu, ye birds at early dawn 

That near my casement sUng, 
While all around the waking flowers 

Their soft, sweet odors flung. 

Adieu, adieu, ye trees and shrubs. 

And pleasant play-grounds all ; 
A voice for me is calling now 

From yonder spacious hall. 
This stately domicil demands 

A parting farewell, too ; 
But oh ! 'tis sad to all we've loved 

At once to bid adieu ! 

Adieu, adieu, my cloister-home, 
With all thy hallowed ties ; 

The precepts thou hast given me 
Most dearly shall I prize. 



ARCADIAJf LEAVES. 

Trials perchance await me now, 

I know not yet my lot ; 
But be it weal, or be it woe, 

Thou shalt not be forgot. 

Adieu, once more ye loved ones all ! 

Forgive these gushing tears, 
And all the wrongs I you have done 

Through happy by-gone years. 
Still in your hearts, oh, let me live. 

Till ye are called to die ; — 
Oh, now they lead me to the gate ! 

Loved home — good by — good by ! 



EE FLECTION. 



Mournfully, pensively, o'er the bright past, 
Sorrow's dark shadows a gloominess cast ; 
From fond beating hearts, young, happy and gay, 
The sun-light of hope has faded away. 



84 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 



,1 

And fast fleeting time has borne on its wing, 
Love that no future unmingled can bring, 
And deep fretting care, like mildew or blight, 1 
Has dimm'd the bright eye, that beamed with delight. 

And unsparing death has ta'en for his guest, 
The young and the fair, the dearest and best. 
And heart thrilling joys that once lit the brow- 
How have they vanished ! Oh, where are they now ? 

All shrouded in gloom are the bright days of yore, 
And visions of fame enchant us no more, 
And bright, blooming youth has turned to decay, 
And life, like a dream, is passing away. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 85 



SABBATH EVENING. 



Softly now the light is fading, 
Oh ! how mild its parting ray ; 

Holy thoughts my bosom filling, 
Bear my raptured soul away, 

On the wings of faith and love, 

To a fairer world above. 

Blessed Sabbath, precious season. 
When the heart may lose its care, 

In the full and free communion 

Which it holds with God in prayer ; 

And like incense to the skies. 

May its pure devotion rise. 

Blessed Sabbath, how I love thee ! 

Day of rest to mortals given. 
Early have I learn't to prize thee, 

Emblem of a rest in heaven — 
7* 



86 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

There, in one triumphant song, 
Joins the sweet seraphic throng. 

Softly now the light is fading, 
Fading into night away ; 

But no night shall cloud the vision, 
In the fadeless realms of day ; 

There shall kindred spirits blend — 

There the Sabbath ne'er shall end. 



SAD TIDINGS. 

Oh ! do not breathe those words again, 

They pierce my inmost soul, 
And drive me to that deep despair 

That will not brook control. 
They fall like death-knells on mine ear^ 

And fill my heart with grief, 
And cause these burning tears to flow^ 

That do not bring relief. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 87 

They turn my sunshine into night, 

And cloud hope's brightest ray ; 
The slightest joys that warm my breast, 

They seem to drive away. 
They banish sleep, and love of friends. 

And haunt my sweetest dreams ; 
My pathway that was once so bright, 

Oh, now how dark it seems ! 

Then do not breathe those words again ; 

But say thou wilt not go, 
And joys will to my breast return. 

And tears will cease to flow ; 
This bitter grief will pass away. 

And all my dreams be bright — 
Oh! say we shall not dwell apart. 

And 1 will say good night. 



88 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 



LOYE'S LONGINaS. 



Though we a fond adieu, love, 

With aching hearts have said, 
And tears of deep regret, love. 

Were at our parting shed. 
And on thy gallant bark, love, 

Across the dark blue sea. 
They say that thou art gone, love. 

Far, far away from me ; 
But still in dreams each nighfc, love. 

Thy spirit comes to mine. 
And true till death my heart, love. 

Shall fondly beat for thine. 
And though it were decreed, love. 

That we should dwell apart, 
I feel there is a chain, love. 

Would bind us heart to heart ; 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 89 



Though sadness deep, perchance, love, 

May o'er my spirit steal, 
And bitter tears relieve, love. 

The loneliness I feel ; 
For I will never doubt, love. 

The words that thou hast said, 
But hide them in my breast, love, 

Till life itself has fled; 
But for thy safe return, love. 

How constantly I'll pray. 
Oh, homeward steer thy bark, love, 

And come without delay. 
I do not prize thee less, love. 

Though we are severed far ; 
Thou still my idol art, love, 

My bright and guiding star. 



90 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 



AN INVOCATION. 



Watcliing angel, spirit bright, 
'Neath thy wings of love and light, 
Through the gloomy shades of night, 
From all evil shelter me — 

From the tempest in the sky, 
From the thunder rolling nigh. 
From the lightning flashing by, 
Keep, oh, keep me safe this night ; 

From disease's baneful breath, 
From the sudden stroke of death, 
From the enemy earth, 
I entreat thee me defend. 

From my spirit banish fear. 
By my bed-side hover near, 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 91 

And from those around me dear, 

Keep all danger far a way- 
Till bright morning beams shall rise, 
Bringing from the eastern skie? 
Sun and light of varied dyes, 

To illume the new-born day* 

Soaring then to realms above, 
Watching angel, gentle dove, 
On thy wings of light and love 
Bear on high my song of praise. 



TO MISS J. L. B**** 

There is a gem of heav'nly birth 
The good alone can prize, 

A precious pearl of priceless worth, 
Whose beauty never dies. 



92 AKCADIAN LEAVES. 

I found it where the muses tread 
With footstep light and free ; 

I stole it from its emerald bed, 
My cherished one, for thee. 

There is a pure an d holy thought, 
A balm for mortal woe, 

With every gentler feeling fraught, 
By angels murmured low ; 

And as it came at even tide. 
In whispers soft and clear, 

I caught it, ere its echo died. 
And bathed it with a tear. 

Should sorrow e'er thy bosom fill. 
Or clouds thy sky o'ercast. 

Oh ! may these little treasures still 
Remind thee of the past. 

When mildly on thy placid brow 
The star of hope doth shine. 

Oh ! may thy loving heart as now 
Still fondly cling to mine. 



AECADIAN LEAVES. 



TO MISS A. P. HITCHCOCK, 

OP WB3THAVBN, VERMONT, IN ANSWER TO A POEM WHICH SHE ADDRESSED 
TO THE AUTHORESS. 



Oh ! thanks to thee, Annaj 

Thy strain maketh glad 
A heart that is pensive, 

Oft lonely and sad ; 
And rejoicing o'er tears 

Thou St shed for its woe. 
It would fondly the while 

Warm gratitude show. 

'Tis sweet, dearest Anna^ 

In sorrow like mine, 
To meet with a spirit 

So genial as thine, 
And find, with delight. 

That a luminous mind 
Showeth sympathy deep 

For one that is blind. 
8 



94 ARCAD1A5C LEAVES. 

Long cherished, dear Anna, 

The morning shall bei, 
When, like a bright angel, 

Thou earnest to me^ 
And, in tones sweet and clearj 

Thy music-like voice 
Sweetly fell on my ear, 

And made me rejoice. 

i)ispelling, dear Anna, 

The gloom of that night 
That sun, moon, nor stars 

Can never make bright ; 
But the love of a heart 

That's true, warm, and kindj 
Giveth light to the soul 

Of one that is blind. 

A wreath for thee, Anna, 
May many hearts twine. 

Of love's sweetest flowers 
That never decline. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 95 

May angels, the brightest, 

Thy pathway attend. 
Till life's weary journey 

In heaven shall end. 

A smile for thee, Anna, 

A sigh and a prayer, 
I offer thee now 

For sympathy's tear ; 
And trust in the future. 

Still warm, I shall find 
A heart that has melted 

For one that is blind. 



AN ANSWER TO A FRIEND'S INQUIRY. 



How sadly sweet upon mine ear 

Thy kind inquiry fell ! 
It touched my heart, and tears gushed forth, 

That told its thoughts too well. 



96 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

For I had deemed that long ere this 
My dreary bitter lot, 
* My poetry, my home, my name. 
Were all by thee forgot. 

Forgive the thought that did thee wrong, 

It came without the will, 
My sad lone heart grows glad to know 

That I'm remembered still. 

Thy friendship now I warmly crave — 

Ah, do not say me nay ! 
Through life 't would ever cheer and light 
My dark and lonely way. 

Accept of me this humble pledge 

Of gratitude to thee. 
For that warm heartfelt sympathy 

Thy words expressed for me. 

Ah me ! I may not longer dwell 

On sympathy so keen. 
But deep unuttered thoughts shall serve 

" To keep my memory green." 



I 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 97 



A SERENADE mm. 



Come, fly with me, sweet Evelyn ; 

To-night the wind is fair, 
Soft moon-beams play upon the deep, 

And balmy is the air. 
In melting tones the night bird pours 

His soft and witching lay, 
The gleaming stars in beauty shine. 

And sporting zephyrs play. 

Haste, dearest, haste, I must away ; 

While yet the skies are clear. 
The tide is rolling to the main, 

I may not linger here. 
My gallant ship lies down the bay, 

Mann'd by a noble crew ; 
Her sails are spread, her anchor weighed, 

And a light-boat waits for you, 
8* 



98 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

Come, come, my love, and be my bride, 

Ere yet we leave the strand. 
Then o'er the bounding wave we'll speed 

To fair Italia' s land. 
Then fly with me, sweet Evelyn, 

To-night the wind is fair, 
Soft moon-beams play upon the deep, 

And balmy is the air. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 99 



THE FATHER'S CURSE; OR, THE BRIDE OF 
THE WAVE. 

" I CANNOT believe him false ; and yet, how strange 
that more than three months have elapsed since, by 
the margin of yonder limpid stream, he held me to 
his bosom, and promised to be faithful to me for- 
ever ! No, no ! I will not believe him false ; and 
yet, there is a weight upon my spirit, a dark forebod- 
ing of approaching ill, which, in spite of all my ef- 
forts, I find it impossible to dissipate. Oh ! Alfred^ 
Alfred!" and with these words Emily Clifford 
started from her seat, and, throwing open the case- 
ment, bathed her aching brow in the cool fragrance 
of the summer breeze. The night was one of ex- 
quisite loveliness ; but its beauty seemed only to 
mock her sorrow, and add a deeper pang to the bit- 
terness of her crushed heart. 

At this moment a light step was heard, and the 



100 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

sweet voice of Kate Hamilton roused her from her 
revery. " What ! you here, and alone !" exclaimed 
the merry girl. " Why, you are looking the very 
picture of misery itself. Come, come, cheer up : I 
have news for you. Cousin Alfred is on his way to 
C , and will probably be with us to-morrow." 

"Do not jest with me, Kate," answered her com- 
panion, pettishly ; then, recollecting herself, she 
added, in a more playful tone : "I am not well this 
evening, so you must pardon my abrupt manner." 

" I will do no such thing," replied Kate, laugh- 
1 ing. " I will believe you angry with me, unless you 
make me your confessor, and tell me the honest truth, 
which is, that you are absolutely in love, and that 
you have some misgivings as to the constancy of my 
very worthy cousin. There now, be frank with me, 
and perhaps I may be of use to you ; at all eventg 
I will endeavor to prove myself worthy of your 
confidence." 

" Well, madcap," said Emily, who had by this 
time recovered her self-possession ; " after all, there 
is something about you positively irresistible ; and 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 101 



now, since you have guessed my secret, you must 
lock it within your bosom. But how came you Jby 
the intelligence that Alfred was on his way to 

c — r 

" I have it from the most credible source imagin- 
able ; yet, lest you should be inclined to doubt its 
authenticity, I believe I must allow you to peruse a 
letter, delicately inscribed to a certain young lady, 
who shall be nameless." 

Emily took the letter, and proceeded, with a trem- 
bling hand, to break the seal. It ran thus : 

'* If you have not already banished me from your 
thoughts, read this, and let the sentiments it conveys, 
atone in some measure for my long silence and apparent 
neglect. 

"You are aware of the circumstances which compelled 
me to return to my father, and you will also recollect the 
vows we exchanged on the evening previous to my depar- 
ture ; but you know nothing of the anguish that has rent 
my inmost soul, and driven me almost to madness. T found 
my father inexorable. He seemed determined to force 
me to a union with one, who, from my heart, I utterly 
detested. She, too, sought every opportunity of intrud- 
ipg herself upon my society ; but her presence to me 



102 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

was most, repulsive, and I, therefore, avoided her com- 
pany. 

" One morning, I was summoned to attend my father 
in his library. I shall not attempt to describe th e con- 
versation that ensued between us ; suffice it to say, he 
reproached me with my ingratitude, and told me that my ' 
obstinacy in refusing to comply with his wishes would ; 
plunge him in the vortex of ruin. 

^' ' I will not disguise the fact,' he continued, ' that, 
during my improvident life, I have expended the immense; 
fortune bequeathed me by your grandsire, and an al- 
liance on your part with Helen Clair can alone enable 
me to hold the position which is fast^ tottering from my . 
grasp. Oh, Alfred ! by the love of your sainted mother,, 
I conjure you to save me from the storm which must, 
ere long, burst upon my gray hairs, and make me a beg- 
gar and an outcast.' 

"What was to be done, I knew not. My brain reeled; 
I felt a cold shudder steal over my frame, and, but for 
the kind hand of an overruling Providence, I should 
have doubtless yielded to his entreaties. 

^' Fortunately, however, an old friend happening to call, 
and desiring his immediate presence, I was left alone in \ 
the library. A strange curiosity prompted me to open 
a private drawer, in which I discovered a letter addressed 
to Helen by my father, disclosing a plan most likely to 
induce me to become hers. 

' ' ' Having fulfilled my part of the contract,' he con, 
tlBued, ^ I shall leave the rest to you. The prize oncft- 



AtlCAtHAN I.EAVES. 103 

Secured will not b'e likely to escape. Ellen, it was I who 
jfirst formed the plan of a matrimonial alliance between 
you and my son. Alfred knows nothing of the cortes- 
pondence between us.' 

" Words cannot portray my feelings as I concluded 
the last sentence of that deceptions letter. I could have 
crushed it to atoms ; but suppressing my anger, 1 re- 
placed it, a,nd, closing the drawer, sat down to deliber- 
ate on the best means of extricating myself from my un- 
pleasant situation. It was not long ere my father re- 
turned. He attempted to resume the conversation ; but 
this, however, I positively declined. He grew impatient, 
and threatened to disinherit me. My pride revolted, 
and, bursting into a paroxysm of rage, I fi.rose hastily, 
and producing the fatal letter, hurled it at him, with an 
air of defiance, exclaiming vehemently as I did so, 
"* Your secret is betrayed ; I am not so ignorant as you 
imagine.' 

" Pale, and trembling with agitation, my father at- 
tempted to reply, but could not. i'or some time, he re- 
mained like one stupified ; then, rousing himself from 
his lethargy, his pent-up breath vented itself in a torrent 
t)f invectives, that made my very blood curdle in my 
veins. ' Go !' he said, ^ and may your life be dark, your 
hopes blighted, and your heart's idol be torn from your 
embrace.' For a moment, I stood riveted to the spot ; 
then, with a sudden bound, I darted from the room, 
and instantly left the house. And now, my dear Emily, 
lafter all this, can you still deem me worthy of your affec- 
tion ? and wil you consent to link your fate with mine?' ' 



104 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

" Oh, Kate, Kate !'* exclaimed the weeping girl^ 
" how have I wronged the noblest and the best of] 
beings f 

The next morning found Alfred Graham tete-a-tetei 
with his betrothed. It was arranged that their nup- 
tials should be solemnized on the following day in j 
the little church, at the end of the green lane, and 
that the bridesmaid should be no other than the! 
beautiful and blushing Kate Hamilton. The news] 
spread like wild-fire through the quiet village of^ 

C ■ ; and, at an early hour, the church was 

thronged with smiling faces, eager to congratulate 
the youthful pair, and to wish them a long life of 
joy and prosperity. At the conclusion of the cere- 
mony, the bridal party returned to their home, where 
several of their most intimate friends had been in- 
vited to pass the day. 

In the evening, a sail was proposed, to which all 
-had cheerfully consented. The lake was unusually 
calm — scarcely a ripple disturbed its placid waters ; 
and as the gay group sprang into their boats, they 
were loudly cheered by those who stood watching 
them from the shore. Scarcely an hour had passed, 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 105 



when the heavy clouds were seen hovering in the 
distance. On they came ; and the rising wind and 
the rolling thunder told of an approaching storm. 

The lake grew turbulent, and the little boats, 
tossed to and fro on its angry waters, became almost 
unmanageable. 

For a single moment, Alfred held his young wife 
to his bosom ; then, seizing the oar which had 
dropped from the hand of his companion, with a 
wild effort he attempted to steer in the direction of 
the shore, but the movement had been too sudden, 
and the boat was overturned. 

Assistance was speedily rendered, and most of. the 
party rescued. But, alas ! for poor Alfred, the 
bright eyes of his darling Emily were closed for- 
ever ; and she, who, but a few hours before, had pil- 
lowed her head confidingly upon his breast, now 
slept in the cold waters — the bride of the foaming 
wave ! The curse of his father was fulfilled ; " his 
life was dark, his hopes blighted, and his heart's idol 
torn from his embrace." 



106 ARGADtAif MaVES* 



A DEEAM. 



O'er Slimmer flowers sleeping^ 

Came zephyrs soft and light. 
And brilliant stars were gleaming 

Around the qneen of night, 
That silver beams was flinging 

O'er mountain, plain, and sea, 
When softly to me stealing 

Came dreams, my love, of thee. 

It seem'd that we were straying 

Beneath the forest shade, 
"Where flowers, wildly blooming, 

In beauty were arrayed ; 
And in the west remaining 

Were gleams of parting day. 
And birds were vespers chanting, 

And soaring far away* 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 107 

Till calmly o'er me stealing^ 

Soft rosy twilight came, 
And love my heart enchanting, 

Gave echo to thy name ; 
Till stars their queen attending, 

With beauty filled the sky, 
That on the earth was gazing, 

In silent majesty. 

And in thine eyes were beaming 

Bright hopes of joy and pride, 
While thou wert me entreating 

To be thy cherished bride ; 
As I response was giving, 

A change came o'er my dream- 
It seem'd the sun was shedding 

His first bright morning beam. 

And at the altar kneeling, 

I gave my hand to thee, 
While thou thy troth were plighting, 

In holy words to me ; 



108 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 



And joy my heart was filling, 
Till morning tinged the stream, 

And I with grief awaking, 
Beheld my bliss a dream. 



LINES ADDRESSED TO A FEIEND. 



Oh, tell me a tale of that sunny isle. 
Whose shores are kissed by the ocean wave ; 

Where the shamrock blooms, and the daisies smile — 
'Tis the home of the noble, the true, and brave. 

Oh, tell me a tale of the bards that sung 
To Erin's heart in the days of yore — 

To the harp whose silvery cadence rung 

Through the vine-clad bowers of that Emerald 
shore. . 

There are thoughts that cpme in the twilight dim, 
When the bird sings low in its quiet nest ; 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 109 

When nature is chanting her vesper hymn, 
Ere she sinks on the bosom of night to rest ; 

And they whisper soft of those halcyon hours 

When thy young heart dreamed, and thy step was 
free ; 

When the wild, sweet music of Erin's bowers 
Was wearing a mystic charm for thee. 

There are crystal drops that in silence start, 
And oft in the beams of the favorite star. 

Full many a sigh from thy yearning heart 
Is borne away to that land afar. 

Oh, tell me a tale of that sunny isle, 

Whose shores are kissed by the ocean wave ; 

Where the shamrock blooms, and the daisies smile — 
'Tis the land of the noble, the true, and brave. 



9* 



110 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 



TO PANNY. 

Fanny, though we, alas ! again must part, 
And each awhile in other circles blend. 

Affection still shall bind us heart to heart — 

While life remains our friendship ne'er shall end. 

If sorrow e'er should cloud thy sunny brow. 
Or bitter grief oppress thy merry heart. 

Thy confidence repose in me as now— 
Of grief or joy I'll gladly share a part. 

And should my slender bark be rudely toss'd 
By angry waves on life's tempestuous sea, 

And hope's bright star 'mid sullen clouds be lost, 
Let thy warm heart still fondly cling to me. 

And now, farewell ! Beneath a brighter sky 
Oh may I listen to thy welcome voice, 

When rosy hours shall glide unheeded by. 
And gladness bid our drooping hearts rejoice. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. Ill 



THE TWILIGHT HOUK. 



O'er the distant mossy hill 
Comes the twilight soft and still, 
Lulling in a pensive dream, 
Mountain, grove, vale, and stream — 
Who has never felt the power 
Of the mystic twilight hour ? 

Scenes of pleasure buried long. 
Friendship's harp, mem'ry's song, 
Those I deem for ever fled, 
Scattered roses, pale and dead ; 
Hopes that bloomed in fancy's bower, 
Greet me at the twilight hour. 

Lightly on my fevered brow 
Steals the playful zephyr now ; 
And my heart with care oppressed. 
Feels a calm and quiet rest. 



112 AECADIAN LEAVES. 

For a strange mysterious power 
Charms me at the twilight hour. 

Crimsoned clouds of varied hue, 
That float in yonder sky of blue- 
Strains of music wild and clear 
Fall enchanted on mine ear. 
Oh, there is a magic power 
In the lovely twihght hour. 



THE BEIDE. 

A maiden fair, of beauty rare, 
Her brow had bound with garlands round ; 
Her eyes were bright, her step was light, 
Her heart was gay as blooming May, ^ 
And sweet the voice of Leonora. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 1J3 

While round her pressed the bridal guests- 
The merry peal of bells that steal 
Upon the ear in echoes clear, 
Whose chiming sound sheds joy around, 
Made glad the heart of Leonore. 

The bridegroom now with youthful brow, 
Of manly form, with heart so warm, 
Erect advanced and round him glanced, 
And saw with pride he could not hide 
The loving smile of Leonore. 

Hand in hand together stand 
The youthful pair, and fondly there 
From each is heard the solemn word, 
That to her swain, in Hymen's chain. 
Unites the heart of Leonore. 



114 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 



A GKOUP OF LITTLE GIELS. 

TO MY LITTLE NIECE WHO IS NOW IN OREGON. 

Theresa dear, with deep regret 

How oft I think of thee, 
And fondly hope, my little pet, 

Thou'st not forgotten me. 
Oh ! how I miss thy merry laugh, 

When children near me play ; 
With joy I mark their sports awhile, 

Then sadly turn away. 

And o'er the deep to Oregon, 

On fancy's wings I roam, 
In search of her who once had been 

The, sunshine of my home. 
And there behold that tender bud, 

In childhood's sunny bower. 
With glowing beauty bright and rare^ 

Unfolding every hour. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 115 

Oh I might I bear it back to bloom 

Beside my cottage door, 
I'd guard it With the fondest care, 

And never part it more. 
Ah me ! ah me ! my fairy flower. 

This may not be thy lot, 
But from this hour I will thee name 

My sweet forget-me-not* 



TO MY LITTLE MECE, ELIZABETH FREDEKICA. 

My sweet Frederica, 

To thee I bequeath - 
A chaplet of flowerets 

That fancy doth wreathe, 

And adorn thy fair brow 

With garlands so rare, 
That the bright queen of May, 

All proudly might wear. 



116 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

Thy pathway I'd strew 

With fresh blooming flowers, 

And charm with sweet music 
Thy sorrowful hours. 

And affection's fresh buds 
With thee I would twine, 

And cement thy young heart 
With fondness to mine. 



TO MY LITTLE COUSIN ALICE 

WHOSE VISITS TO ME HAVE BEEN A SOXIRCE OF GREAT PLEASURK. 



Thy coming, Alice, cheers me, 
It makes my heart so glad ; 

But ah ! thy going grieves me. 
And leaves me lone and sad. 

Thy coming, like the morning, 
Brings beams of joyous light, 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 117 

Thy going, like the even, 
Leaves but the dreary night. 

Thy coming, like an angel, 

Brings happiness to me ; 
But when thou hast departed — 

Ah ! how I pine for thee. 

Alice, could thy coming be 

To go no more away, 
I think life's cares would vanish, 

My heart would be so gay. 



TO MY LITTLE COUSIN SAEAH MATILDA. 

Matilda, like music that floats light and free, 
There came o'er me stealing sweet musings of thee ; 
Thy young heart is beating with innocent mirth, 
In glee thou art wreathing the flowerets at birth, 
Thy bright eyes are beaming with love fresh and warm, 
And beauty is gracing thy delicate form. 



118 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

Thy lute voice is thrilling each heart with delight, 
Thy sweet smile is shedding a soft, sunny light, 
Thy warm Up is breathing the depths of a love, 
As sweet and refreshing as dews from above. 
Thy light feet are roving o'er scenes bright and gay, 
Thy fingers are culling sweet flowers by the way — 
May wreaths of affection for thee be entwined, 
And all the sweet graces in thee be combined. 



TO JULIA. 

Think not, dearest Julia, that thou art forgot ; 
I am musing of thee when thou knowfest it not ; 
In fancy I'm often conversing with thee. 
And think thou art smiling in answer to me. 

In night's airy visions I see thy sweet face, 
And deem thee the image of beauty and grace, 
When fairy-like footsteps fall soft on mine ear 
I rise up to greet thee with pleasure sincere. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 119 

When voices of gladness are thrilling the air, 
I sigh with regret if thine own is not there ; 
When sweet smiling faces are turning to mine, 
I look for the roses that bloom upon thine. 

When bright eyes are beaming with looks of delight, 
I think thine are gleaming with far sweeter light ; 
When young joyous bosoms are throbbing with glee — 
Ah ! then, dearest Julia, I'm thinking of thee. 



TO ISABELLA. 

Another flower from fairy bower 
With smiling face I'll bring to grace 
This group so fair of gems so rare ; 
Her eyes are bright, her heart is light- 
'Tis my sweet Isabel. 

The birds that sing at early spring. 
With voices clear, may glad the ear ; 



120 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

Bat melts the heart, as dews that part, 
When o'er it meet, in cadence sweet, 
The tones of Isabel. 

The sunbeam bright, of golden light. 
With cheering smile may charm awhile, 
But then its i'ay will fade away. 
And leave the glade where once it played- 
N6t so with Isabel. 

Her smile is bright, from morn till night. 
And while she sings, a halo flings 
Around the spot where 'tis her lot, 
With joyful mirth, to cheer the hearth — 
Adieu, my Isabel. 



ARCADIAN LEAVES. 121 



TO MY COUSIN ELIZA. 

For thee, dearest cousin, for thee, 

My harp from the willow I've ta'en, 
And wake from its long silent chords, 

A simple, yet heart-bidden strain. ' 
I respond, dear cousin, with joy. 

To thy deep-toned breathings of love, 
They seem like the notes of a harp 

When touched by an angel above. 
With thee, dearest cousin, I hope 

Each other ere long we shall meet, 
And mutual friendship and love 

The joy of our hearts shall complete ; 
For what, dearest cousin, is life. 

When severed from those we hold dear ^ 
Though surrounded by honor and wealth. 

We yearn for sweet sympathy's tear. 



122 ARCADIAN LEAVES. 

'Tis vain, dearest cousin, for me. 

To attempt by language to show 
The deep, sweet emotions of love, 

Thy kindness now causeth to flow. 
Then haste thee, dear cousin, to me, 

That fondly our hearts may entwine, 
And yield to each other the joys 

That love's genial air makes divine. 

Alice A. Holmes. 



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